


Broads in Atlanta

by clearface



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blurryface Era, Denial, Emotional Roadshow World Tour, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Music Festival, Music Midtown, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Touring, he did not take off his dress shirt., this show was weird as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearface/pseuds/clearface
Summary: Blurryface took a minute to close his eyes, trying to maintain some sort of sanity. The AC vents were louder than ever, and there was still screaming and music outside, and the trailer was still hot.He wasn’t going to be able to take off his shirt.“I’m not going to be able to take off my fucking shirt,” Blurry grumbled, walking over and taking a seat on the sofa in defeat. “I can’t fucking take it off. 90 degrees outside and I won’t be able to take off my shirt because of what you did, and I’m gonna die of a fucking heatstroke.”“It’s a light shirt.”(set during Music Midtown festival 2016)
Relationships: Blurryface | Nicolas Bourbaki/Spooky Jim, Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Broads in Atlanta

**Author's Note:**

> music midtown was my first ever show. it was the show with the infamous tear in my heart pronoun change, spooky nearly smacking someone with his trees mallets and also lots of blurryface control...and he did not take off his shirt?
> 
> yes this show was five years ago, yes i still want to know what happened. thank you for your time.
> 
> thank you to my gc for believing my conspiracies.

Atlanta was hot.

Tyler had been to much warmer places in the past, but nothing prepared him for the sweltering Georgia heat he was currently facing in mid-September. On paper, the weather wasn’t really much worse than what was on the Columbus forecast right now, but the absence of wind, hot concrete and sun-reflecting windows of the city was about to do Tyler in for the day.

They flew in yesterday with the crew and one of their tour managers. The festival—Music Midtown—wasn’t actually a new one, they had already been back in 2014. This time however, Twenty One Pilots was headlining day one, on the big stage in front of thousands of people. In fact, it was their biggest headlining festival yet. Though at this pace, that record would soon be broken by a bigger, better show, but that didn’t take away the feat in the slightest to Tyler and Josh. It was still an accomplishment, one meant to be celebrated. Something they wouldn’t have ever dreamed of five years ago.

Mark, Tyler and Josh had taken some time to themselves before entering the park for some interviews. As a headliner, they did soundcheck and met with the festival’s sound crew bright and early this morning, so they had been up for a while. They didn’t play until dark, meaning the day was free to them for a while, longer than they were used to, so Mark suggested they grab brunch, which wasn’t something they did often. Brunch was something that Jenna had made Tyler accustomed to, and he felt bad that she wasn’t in on the festivities today. Touring was still taking a toll on her sleep schedule, and Tyler understood she couldn’t tag along to every single thing. It was exhausting. It was just sad because the crew felt...empty.

Tyler knew it was because Michael was gone, he had left a little less than a month ago, and it hurt more than he thought it should have. Josh, being the greatest friend in the world that he was, had gently reassured him it probably hurt because Michael was one of the core members of the band from the early days and had been with the boys through everything. From being huddled up on the putrid mattress in the back of the van in 2011 to seeing them embark on a world tour, selling out arenas left and right like it was nothing. Hearing Stressed Out (and now Heathens) on the radio till their ears bled. Looking at everyone and nodding, saying, “This is it. This is the life.” And Tyler was kind of stupid enough to think he would stay, even though he knew Michael was easily overwhelmed and was ready to start his family. He couldn’t blame him—one day Tyler would get there too—except he couldn’t leave the band after truly settling down.

So now, sitting down in this restaurant, it was just Mark, Tyler, and Josh, with an empty seat Michael or Jenna probably would’ve sat in, and some menus that a waiter placed in front of them. Josh sat next to Tyler, Mark across from Josh, and the sweet, sweet feeling of air conditioning blowing above Tyler’s head. The sadness of their skeletal crew was making Tyler hotter, he realized, and he did not know how he was going to be able to perform in that stuffy, dumbass suit tonight. Josh’s knee hit his, and Tyler glanced over. Josh was looking out at the street.

Mark had to make reservations for this place, apparently the locals on Yelp gave it good reviews. Despite it being crowded that Saturday morning, neither boys had been recognized or given strange glances yet. That was never a new thing, the fan interaction, but it had definitely swelled in the past three-or-so months. Tyler had almost given up on eating out anywhere, it was like he couldn’t have a meal in peace anymore. And don’t get him wrong; he fucking loved those kids, but _God damn_ , it was like they practically camped out at his local Taco Bell back home, waiting to strike. 

The waitress asked him for his drink. He ordered a water and, not to Tyler’s surprise, she took an extra few seconds looking at him before proceeding to Josh, who ordered a Coke. Tyler knew how this would go down: She would gossip to another employee, and they would dart suspecting glances to their table, _The Stressed Out Guys,_ and then when handing them their check, she would ask, “This is kinda weird….but are you that one band…?”

In all honesty, Tyler wished he was at the festival watching all of the acts, and he knew Josh did too, but he also knew that he would have plenty of time to indulge in the music after the radio interviews. Also, Mark got hangry, so it was probably best they eat now.

“This AC feels like heaven,” Mark sighed, redirecting Tyler’s attention.

Josh cracked a smile, one of the toothy ones that Tyler still loved. “Right?” he asked. “It’s hot as crap outside.”

“I don’t think ‘crap’ is a strong enough word,” Tyler looked at him, and Josh looked back, and they grinned together. “More like…’ _frick’_.”

They laughed, and Mark rolled his eyes. “I can’t take you two anywhere,” he said sarcastically, “always so vulgar.”

* * *

Mark ended up ordering waffles for the table, and they were good, but Tyler had found his appetite was a little diminished. He couldn’t tell if it was subconscious nerves for the show or if he just preferred Jenna’s cooking instead. Their conversations filled with talk of the show, the regular turnout guessing game where Mark would give a genuine prediction and Josh would proudly state that he thinks a solid twelve people would show, and then Tyler telling everyone that Jenna said she would try and replicate their meal when they got back to Columbus.

They took an Uber back to the hotel to grab some phone chargers and make sure there wasn’t anything else they needed to bring to the park that their set crew hadn’t already covered. Atlanta traffic, Tyler decided, was literal hell on Earth. The hoards of people taking the trek to Piedmont Park on the sidewalk were making Josh’s knee bounce in the backseat as they got stuck behind a line of cars. Tyler placed his hand on Josh’s exposed knee cap as he looked out at the streets too from beside him. Mark always rode up front in the passenger seat, saying a long time ago that, “ _It just isn’t right to separate you two,_ ” in a sort of parental tone that made Tyler laugh. They both loved Mark to bits, and Tyler owed that man almost everything at this point (Nowhere near what he owed Josh, which was more than he could even fathom).

Josh getting nervous about the show was something Tyler also could feel, and the more he thought about it, the more overwhelming it would get. He knew to never ponder this shit too much, because there _was_ a breaking point for him, but as long as Josh and Mark were here, he figured it would be okay. On the bright side, he was genuinely excited to showcase the Emotional Roadshow to Music Midtown. The set was absolutely incredible, and even though there wouldn’t be any B-stage or anything, it wasn’t like it would be any less interesting than a regular show, or the one they'd had about 30 minutes away from here in Duluth in August. In fact, festivals were usually more interesting. The crowd was always far more diverse and the atmosphere was never what Tyler and Josh would be expecting, and for the Blurryface cycle, Tyler hated to admit this, playing the character was fun sometimes. And at festivals, it just meant that Blurry would get to have a field day.

It was needed in situations like these, where Tyler was bursting at the seams from irrational insecurity, to just let himself go. Let the narrative play out for the fans and really nail in what the point was. Blurry had become a very natural thing, asserting jurisdiction before shows right when the paint was starting to be applied. It was very scary letting someone like Blurryface consume Tyler, but it was similar to an adrenaline rush, so it was easy to excuse, if you will. Tyler had come to notice that Blurryface was really just...camping out in his brain the day of shows, well, metaphorically he was _always_ camping out, but it was like waiting behind a curtain on the day of, waiting to burst out and come to life as soon as Tyler let him.

Tyler had also realized that memories from shows had started to become a little fuzzy. It was either because of Blurryface or just because they were playing so many. It had picked up during Blurryface Tour, and Tyler really could never catch a break to recount the shows since then.

The memory loss was a little terrifying, because Blurry had started to get a little zealous with his interactions with Josh— _Spooky_ —and one of their managers had already berated both of the boys over text about a phenomenon called “queerbaiting” that Tyler wasn’t the most educated on, Josh either. After reading what exactly their manager had warned them about, Tyler waved it off.

First of all, if their manager knew what happened on that mattress in that old ass van, or how exactly Tyler lost his virginity (and who he lost it to), that term would not be a valid one to use given the circumstances.

Secondly, Blurry and Spooky were...kind-of-sort-of real people with very repressed sexual desire, and they certainly were not acting on behalf of providing fan-service (for the most part).

The issue was that, despite these arguments, Tyler could rarely remember what would happen before or during shows, so he didn’t have a solid argument to use because the shit his manager would tell him about, he probably wouldn’t even know happened in the first place. Josh sometimes could recall, but he too was always deep into the character, so it wasn’t much help.

Tyler was just ultimately scared that something was going to happen that would get his ass flamed on the Internet by homophobic parents. And it’s not like he could blame Blurryface. That sounded so fucking stupid, even if it was pretty true.

Tyler never intended for Blurryface to be a reflection of his queer insecurity or his struggles with how he presented himself in terms of gender conformity and all that stuff he couldn’t keep track of, but it was 2016, and Tyler was pretty insecure about that. Ever since ramping up the whole “Joshler” thing, Tyler understood that there was no going back, and he was prepared for that, but there was always that outside noise that he was so weary of.

It was partly why he and Josh called it quits back in the day.

That thought unearthed extreme pain that was now piercing Tyler’s heart like a spear, and he looked over at Josh as they got out of the car. He breathed in sharply through his nose, and Josh looked at him immediately.

“You okay?” Josh asked him.

“Yeah,” Tyler said flatly. If Jenna were here, he wouldn’t have to think about this.

But Jenna knew. Sort of. About the whole Blurry and Spooky thing. She had already had the talk with Tyler about Josh years ago, and their relationship and Tyler’s leftover feelings, and it was always a mutual understanding that Jenna would forever come first, but sometimes, once in a blue moon, it would hurt. The thought of _Josh_. And Jenna would understand, she would validate Tyler’s feelings, and she was more than welcome to let him express them in the platonic manner they always did. Tyler was forever grateful for her. And when Blurry and Spooky did their thing on stage, she didn’t bat an eye. She knew. She understood, and Tyler didn’t know what else he could ask her for. He didn’t deserve her.

And now she wasn’t here, and it was so stupidly hot, and Tyler was nervous, and Josh was looking at him like he was green in the face.

“Tyler,” Josh said.

“I’m good. Just...thinking.”

“I know,” Josh said. His sunglasses were blocking his eyes, but Tyler knew the expression that was crossing them.

Mark thanked the Uber driver and tipped him, running up to Tyler and Josh. “Am I interrupting something?” he joked lightly.

“Nah,” Tyler said. “C’mon, I’m sweating my balls off.”

That arose a laugh from Mark and Josh, and something in Tyler lifted as they went inside. It was probably, once again, thanks to the air conditioning, but Tyler was going to tell himself otherwise.

* * *

Tyler and Josh stood in front of a floor length mirror, Josh looking down at the two iPhone cords Tyler held in his hand, backpack being held open by Josh. Tyler dropped them in.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” replied Tyler, watching as Josh zipped up the bag and swung it over his shoulder. Tyler sighed. He could feel Josh’s breath very faintly.

“Is it the show?” Josh asked. He was always so persistent when Tyler was in a funk. Always looking to dig deep so he could find some advice to give. Tyler thought it was one of his best traits. He could see Josh’s big brown eyes now that they had their sunglasses off, and it was just how Tyler knew they were earlier: laced with concern, kindness and a sense of knowing.

“Big show,” Tyler said. “The heat sucks too.”

“It’s not that bad,” Josh told him, putting a hand on Tyler’s arm. “Are you sick?”

“No, no,” Tyler shook his head, looking down. “I’m good.”

Josh was silent for a minute. “Dude,” he said.

“What?” Tyler's tone was too sharp for his liking.

“I’m so proud of us. It’s gonna be a good show.”

It was like night and day, the way Tyler’s face melted into a smile that sent Josh back half a decade. “Such a good show, dude!”

“I was looking outside and there are like, so many people here to see us. Like always.”

“That’s good,” Tyler said. “Think more than 12 people are gonna show?”

Josh laughed. “It’s a close call.”

There was a knock at the door, and Mark’s grumble on the other end. “ _Guys_.”

Tyler opened the door, Mark awkwardly standing there with his phone in his hand.

“I thought I would have to stop knocking after like, 2013.”

“What can I say,” Josh swooned. “Tyler is just so irresistible.”

“Camila is outside waiting,” Mark said. Tyler frowned. Camila was like, his least favorite manager. It’s not like she wasn’t nice, he was sure she didn’t have any bad intentions, but she just didn’t know Tyler and Josh. Or Mark, for that matter. She was someone that their label gave them for some of the bigger shows, and Tyler hated that he couldn’t exactly choose his managers.

She didn’t understand Blurryface at all, and she always complained about the mood before shows. Tyler always scoffed at that. She should know some artists get moody before shows, especially when you’re putting on a character who’s meant to be a moody, arrogant asshole. Tyler couldn’t imagine what she would think during the next cycle, when everyone was gonna be in a fictional universe (Tyler was always planning...and it wasn’t final, but it was something).

Josh carried their bag out to another car, this time it was a driver the festival sent to take them to a special entrance. Camila was outside in a neat skirt and a button-up tank. She was always so...uptight and professional. Tyler, in a t-shirt, hoodie, and some grey pants (Oh. That’s why he was hot), could not relate. Josh was wearing a black hoodie too. 

Aww, they were matching.

“Good morning boys, you all ready?” Despite being around 40, Camila had the voice of a grandma.

“Yes!” Josh smiled at her, because he was always the nice one.

“How are you today Tyler? Mark?”

“I’m good, a little warm,” Tyler tried to joke. 

The blonde lady put her lips into a line. “Well, you are wearing a black hoodie...and pants.” Jesus, this lady sounded like his mom, and she was only like, ten years older than Tyler! 

Tyler gave her a tight smile, and Mark mumbled, “I’m good thanks, you?” Camilla didn’t answer. She never paid attention to Mark. 

_Fuck you_ , Tyler wanted to say to her, _how dare you disrespect the third member of the band like that._

But he couldn’t, cause then the label would be mad at him, more than they already are.

The car ride was awkward, silent, and the traffic was only getting worse. The good thing was that Tyler was starting to be able to hear music the closer he got, and the sounds of singing and heavy bass guitars and people cheering. He loved festivals.

Tyler always made small notes as to what to say before Trees speeches, and on tonight’s list was retelling a story about Josh and Tyler standing in the pit two years ago that they would be performing for now, watching Eminem's headlining show. He was pretty sure they made a Vine during that, and he was sure that some teenage girl had watched the Vine prior to the show today, freaking out because they had been to this park in her city before. Something along those lines. He thoroughly enjoyed those times with Josh, it was just the two of them back then because Mark and Michael and Jenna were at the hotel, tired and worn out. Tyler and Josh had energy for days, that’s what always happened after a show, and they really wanted to see Eminem.

Today, they wouldn’t be allowed to be in any of the pits. Festival staff had graciously told them they would get to spectate from special areas reserved for the important artists, and part of that made Tyler a little sad. Knowing not everyone could be in the pit sucked, cause that was like, the best thing ever. It also sucked because it meant any artist below like, the third row of the lineup wouldn’t get this special treatment, even though all the small artists were the backbone of this entire festival.

Headlining was a strange feeling.

They got to the park and pulled up in an area of trailers that was near their stage, the Electric Ballroom stage. It was evidently also close to the VIP area and that special area for artists, so at least Tyler and Josh wouldn’t have to make the long walk across the entire park again like they did last time. Although that also meant it would be harder to see smaller acts that _were_ across the park.

A staff member guided the group of four to the boy’s trailer, which was thankfully near a refreshments tent. Tyler couldn’t figure out who was in the trailers next to them. The air was nice and chilly when they arrived inside, but the trailer itself was barren, with a few windows, plain walls, a dressing area, bathroom, some tables and a rather large velvety couch with storage underneath. There was a kitchenette with a fridge, a microwave and a dingy pair of seats at a table, and what looked to be a giant projector screen. Josh made himself at home, lounging back and looking out the window. Tyler took a seat on the edge of the couch. They were given big, lime green badges that read “ARTIST”. Josh shoved his in his hoodie pocket and Tyler clipped his on a belt loop on his pants.

“This is absolutely lovely!” Camila told the staff member, who kept a smile on her face.

“Do you guys have any food or drink requests or any toiletries you need? There’s a beverage tent right outside, but there’s also a fridge stocked with some water.”

“Red Bull, some paper towels and...who’s catering today?”

“Zoë’s Kitchen, but there’s also a restaurant behind here and we can get you just about anything from the city, complimentary of the festival, Mr. Pilot,” she smiled at her own joke.

Tyler cringed, _that was awful_ , making an attempt to laugh it off. “Cool, thank you so much. I’ll let you know.”

“Alrighty then! If you would like to watch anything on TV,” she started, pulling down on a projector, “the remote is on the table!”

“Sick,” Tyler said. “Thanks.”

“Of course! Someone will be back with the Red Bull and towels soon.”

Josh’s attention was on the commotion outside, the heavy sounds of equipment being moved and the music onstage. Their clothes were already here, which was nice, along with everything else they may need. Mark dropped the backpack at the side of the couch. Tyler reached for the remote, turning on the TV, idly clicking on ABC for a football game. Florida State vs Louisville. Tyler didn't care about either.

“I’m gonna go check on the rest of the crew. I’ll see you guys this afternoon, yeah?”

Tyler and Josh both looked up, giving their creative director a thumbs up. “See you, man,” Josh said. 

* * *

The first interview, Tyler could tell, was gonna look shitty. It’s not like the interview itself was bad, the interviewer, Wendy, was nice and asked good questions that weren’t just “What’s Blurryface?” that Tyler could appreciate. She even asked Josh about his solo project with Watsky, which surprised Tyler because Josh always did his solo projects on the downlow. The issue with this interview was that the AC was blowing hard which would fuck with the audio and also the the cameraman didn’t have a tripod and shook the whole time. Tyler was glad Mark wasn’t here, because Mark would have pitched a fit.

After that, everything was as expected. There weren’t a ton, but Tyler couldn’t help like he and Josh’s privacy just kept getting invaded over and over again by multiple radio crews barging in 30 minutes after one another. Some guys came in during the Alabama/Ole Miss game that was actually getting interesting, and one of their crew members just ended up sitting on the edge of their couch, watching the game for no fucking reason at all. The rest were okay though. Tyler would sit close to Josh, knees touching on the couch. Interviews were just an excuse for Tyler to stare at Josh and vice versa, to try and read each other’s mood for the day. Also, Josh was pretty. So there was that. Tyler crossed his legs and Josh kept his close together and shut, swaying back and forth as Tyler would tap his hand against Josh’s knee to try and reassure him. As much as Tyler knew Josh was trying to hold it in to keep Tyler afloat, Josh needed him too, and that’s just how it worked.

After the interviewers were gone and Camila promised to leave the two alone, it was just Josh and Tyler, and the Red Bulls that someone dropped off.

“We’re gonna have a good show,” Tyler told Josh. 

“Yeah,” Josh said with a smile. His eyes were bright, faded pink hair tucked neatly under his hat, but his constant swaying could tell Tyler everything he needed to know about how Josh felt.

“We can just let it go,” Tyler said.

“Yeah,” Josh breathed. They looked at each other for a moment, and Blurry was practically prying at the folds in Tyler’s brain. Tyler could feel Josh’s breath on his face again. They were both hot, a drop of sweat already down Josh’s face. Just like if they were on stage, except Josh was shirtless on stage. Josh was not “Josh” on stage.

“We should go see some sets,” Tyler broke the silence, licking his lips. “Camila can come looking for us whenever she wants.”

Josh snorted. “She’ll probably call the police asking for a search party.”

“You think they put trackers in these things?” Tyler asked, picking up his green badge. It was a giant circle, way too big and obnoxious for Tyler’s taste.

“Maybe,” Josh shrugged. “I think she tracks our phones though.”

Tyler and Josh laughed, standing up and leaving their trailer, phones in pockets. Someone outside led them to a covered area with more AC, and they sat down on a sofa. Tyler couldn’t recognize any of the people there. “Who are all these people?” Tyler whispered to Josh. Tyler didn’t know jack shit about celebrities, but since moving to LA, Josh was always in the know and had started to make friends by the hundreds. Tyler always counted on his friend to fill him in.

“Like, who’s performing?”

“No, like the people around us.”

“No clue.”

Tyler shoved Josh in the arm. “Ugh,” he said jokingly. “You’re useless.”

Turns out it was DNCE that was on stage, started at 3:30, and Tyler could say he enjoyed it. According to Josh, one of the Jonas Brothers, Joe, was in the band. Tyler also came to realize that he had never heard a version of Cake By The Ocean that wasn’t a clean radio edit. They were all energetic and put on a good show. From where Tyler and Josh were sitting, they could see the pit, and it was sectioned off into thirds, with isles going down to the very back. There was a closed off section halfway down in the middle of the pit that was for Citi credit card members, Tyler thinks, and Joe pays them a visit walking down during one of their singles, winking at the crowd.

“Which aisle are you gonna run down for Car Radio?” 

“Security told me the one on the right. There’s a platform back there. But I kinda wanna climb the scaffolding.”

Tyler could feel Josh’s heart stopping when he said that. “That’s...high,” Josh said. “Scary.”

“I did it here in 2014 and didn’t get yelled at,” Tyler replied.

“Okay, but that stage was significantly shorter than this one,” Josh said.

Tyler sat for a minute, watching Joe run back to the stage. “I won’t climb it. Don’t worry.”

“Tyler—“

Tyler looked at him and put a hand on his knee. “Dude, I could see your life flash before your eyes when I said that. I’m not gonna do that to you.”

Josh was silent, looking back down at the band on stage. Their bassist, Josh forgot his name, was currently stunting some bright, shiny pink tights and a fuzzy neon pink guitar strap for his bass. And a mohawk. “I think I should get a mohawk again,” Josh said when the dude came up on the big screen.

Tyler grinned. “I think you should get some shiny pink tights. They’d totally put your hulking calves on display.”

“Hulking calves?” Josh laughed. “Maybe you should get them. You wear all the tights anyways.”

“They do nothing for me, I don’t have very sexy legs.”

“I think you have very sexy legs, Tyler,” Josh slapped his hand on Tyler’s knee and held it there, trying to keep as straight of a face as he could muster. Tyler tried to not think about how Josh was gripping his leg and instead tried to also not burst out into laughter. 

“Thank you, Jishwa,” Tyler replied affectionately.

After a while they ventured away from their secluded famous-people-hideaway, Josh’s suggestion, and ended up backstage on some of the smaller stages to watch shows across the park. Tyler liked it better this way even though they weren’t really supposed to be back here, but Josh said it made for better Snapchat content and meant they had the opportunity to catch the artist after their set, which Josh loved to do. Tyler was willing to go anywhere Josh wanted to, as long as they didn’t get separated, because Mark was not here to chaperone the two like usual.

* * *

Tyler decided that he liked festivals a lot after being informed that he would be given more time alone in his trailer alone, nothing to bother him (or Josh). Maybe it was a bad thing that he knew just how harsh Blurry could get, but it was like a new normal, and everyone knew to simply leave him be (except for fucking Camila). The crew didn’t know at what time exactly they needed Josh and Tyler backstage instead of in their trailer, but since costumes and makeup and shit were in the trailer, it meant more time sitting around in the paint.

They rarely ever got alone time like this, but especially with Jenna not being here, Tyler needed interaction. He couldn’t just let this time go to waste. He was more nervous for this show than he should be. The crowd grew as the day got older and it didn’t have much of a positive effect on either Tyler or Josh. They loved playing for big crowds, don’t get them wrong, but it was scary.

“I had fun today,” Tyler said, like they had just gone on a date. It was nighttime now. He discarded his hoodie on the arm of the sofa. There was still football on at this time, a more local school, Georgia, but Tyler once again didn’t really care. He turned the game off. He would watch them play the next time he was down in Atlanta. Josh sat, a water bottle in one hand and phone in the other, looking up at the sound of Tyler’s voice.

“Me too,” he said.

“Did you know it’s supposed to rain tomorrow?” Tyler asked, trying to distract himself from the screaming going on outside. Everything was heightened at night. At least he knew some of the fans were out there.

“Oh, good thing we aren’t playing tomorrow,” Josh said. Tyler turned around and looked at him. Josh kept eye contact and turned off his phone.

“Should I go ahead and put the paint on?” The silence was increasingly unbearable, and the thought of Blurry was starting to become more and more welcome in Tyler’s mind. He was going to need more AC.

“I mean, yeah. There’s moisture in the air outside…’cause of the rain. You can let it dry more,” Josh suggested, and Tyler thought that was the greatest bullshit excuse ever. “I can go ahead and do my makeup,” he said, even though the eye makeup was usually the last part of his pre-show routine. 

Tyler grabbed Josh’s water out of his hands and took a slug, praying to God that Blurryface wouldn’t single handedly ruin his career tonight, all things considered. The music was loud. Blurry was peeking his head around the corner of Tyler’s mind.

Everything about the show was coming back. The lack of fans, the size of the show, the short set, everything that was going to happen on stage. Everything Tyler didn’t know was going to happen on stage. The noise.

Jenna was gone. Josh was here. Biggest show yet.

Tyler excused himself to the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from the backpack Mark gave them, rid his breath of the pizza they ate for dinner, and closed his eyes.

The process of getting into character was easy for Tyler now. It used to be hard to come to terms with, but it was all for the audience, the fans, his personal agenda.

Josh knocked on the bathroom door. Tyler opened it, Josh came in to brush his teeth too. Tyler left him alone.

Tyler’s makeup bag was black with red stitching, fitting for Blurry, one of Jenna’s old ones that she let him use for his paint materials. For photoshoots, the makeup was done by artists. They didn’t exactly get in character for a magazine (besides the promotional shoot. Tyler remembers that one well. Blurry does too). As far as shows went, the two were on their own. Inside was a palette of black pigment, a travel size bottle of alcohol, some makeup wipes, setting spray and a brush. Tyler meticulously took out each thing, turned on the vanity lights, and removed his shirt.

Blurry’s sharp jawline was completed with a brush, for a clean distinction that gave him a jawline purposefully better, more masculine than Tyler’s. Everything else was smeared on, and then the palms were wiped to avoid transfer (Blurry had already found himself in a bit of a fiasco after fans pointed out at one festival in 2015 that Spooky had little black fingerprints on his waist). The neck paint would reach down his collarbones, into the dips of his chest, dark, messy and just how Blurry wanted it to be, and then the hand paint would travel into the creases of his knuckles if he was lucky, in his nail beds and putting an emphasis on his veins. Paint application was completed with haste so that there was more time to let it dry after setting it, but Blurry didn’t exactly need to hurry today. He was hurrying for other reasons, reasons that would not be mentioned consciously.

Blurry had his biggest show tonight. A festival, with unsuspecting guests to astonish, to weird out. Not enough fans to get rid of him until the very end, a show all for his control. Tyler was always scared, but tonight Blurryface knew Tyler was especially terrified of what people would think, which meant his job was to go absolutely crazy.

The paint was almost done by the time Josh exited the bathroom, and Blurry turned, giving him the side eye as he sat down on the couch, taking off his hat and picking up the other’s shirt to fold it. 

Josh took out the red makeup palette he used at the exposed sink after Blurry was done and looking for his skinny jeans. The mental transition was similar to Blurry’s, the cream eyeshadow was swiped on and Spooky would take life, like a snap of the fingers.

Blurry buttoned his jeans, clearing his throat. “Spooky?” he asked tentatively, his voice rough from lack of use.

“Hm?” Spooky Jim hummed. Blurryface turned to look at him.

“Thank God,” he stressed. “I’ve been waiting all fucking day.”

“What, to see me?” Spooky smiled. “It’s awful, how clingy you are.”

“No, you moron,” Blurry grumbled. “Fucking aggravating having to sit in the backseat when she’s not here.”

Spooky tossed his shirt over his head. “Well it's not like we can walk around all day in costume, you’re an idiot if you think that.” Spooky’s voice was low, eyes seemingly darker, but maybe that was Blurryface’s imagination. 

Blurry sat down. “Big show,” he said. He was not going to pander to Spooky’s insult olympics.

“I knew you’d enjoy that, although, I’m confused as to why we’re here so soon?”

“Neither of them had a problem with it.” Blurry felt his heart stop.

“I always forget you’re smarter than I take you for,” Spooky said. He sat down next to Blurry. “Paint drying. Good excuse.”

“That was not Tyler’s suggestion. Nor mine,” the brunet said.

Spooky narrowed his eyes. “Are you insinuating _I_ was the one who wanted this? Why do you think I would want to put up with the insufferable piece of shit you are any more than I already have to?”

“The same reason why you chose to sit next to me. You are the one who told me we could have _this_ in the first place. She’s not here to break me out. This is our biggest show, the strongest I’ve been in awhile. I will be here for a hot minute, and so will you, like you always are. Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming from a mile away. You aren’t the smartass you think you are by completely ignoring this.”

Spooky laughed. “No, Blurryface, I think you conjured this up on your own. Do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Blurryface froze. Spooky was close. It was still warm in the trailer. His chest was starting to glisten. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“You brought me out early. We’re alone. We have time. If you keep edging me on like this we are going to have issues.”

“ _Me_ edging _you_ on?” Blurryface hissed. “You are so full of shit.”

“What do you want from me, Blurry? What do you want to do with our precious time before you go on stage and have to do everything publicly?”

Blurry’s breath was heightened. They had been like this for months, a little over a year at this point. Spooky would get close, too close, and then it would be over. They never got to do anything, even if they knew it was there, and they had talked about it. 

He couldn’t do it.

He ripped away from Spooky’s gaze, standing up to go over to the clothing rack to grab his shirt. 

“You don’t have to get dressed for another hour, Blurryface,” Spooky said from behind him. Blurryface huffed, and he shrugged the shirt up anyways. 

But as soon as it went up, Spooky was behind him, turning him around and shoving him against a wall in between the rack of their clothes and the vanity, a tight space that had barely enough room for Blurry’s wrists to be pinned below him at his waist. Blurry’s breath was short, and he panicked a little, watching Spooky’s face darken as he blocked light from the both of them.

This was going to be bad.

“What is your problem?” Spooky demanded. There were millimeters between them. Blurry could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

“ _You_ ,” spat Blurry.

“Shut the fuck up,” Spooky stressed, before pushing himself forward and kissing Blurry with more force than he needed to. Everything stopped for a good five seconds and Blurry completely forgot how to function, the feeling of kissing him felt so against every boundary that had been set for Blurryface since he became real. Blurry wasn’t sure he could breathe. The kiss was so heavy that every time Spooky pulled slightly and Blurry thought he would be able to catch his breath, Spooky simply wouldn’t let him and just kissed harder. It was like a sick and twisted version of heaven. 

This is how it was supposed to be, rushed and half-naked in some dingy trailer where there were absolutely no blinds or curtains on the windows to block the view of outside spectators. This is how Blurry intended for it to be. But that didn’t mean he was prepared for it.

He gasped when he could, and Spooky’s hands were letting go of his wrists and exploring the rest of his body from the tiny space, the other’s lips messy on Blurry’s cheek. “Spooky,” Blurry said, embarrassingly strained. “Are we allowed...to do this?”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Spooky groaned in what was mostly annoyance. Blurry was about to defend his question until Spooky’s hands went on his ass and suddenly he couldn’t find it in himself to talk again, letting Spooky pull him over to the couch, so that he was laying on his back, Spooky above him, hair touching Blurry’s forehead. 

Spooky was sweating. It was still hot.

“Spooky.”

“Blurry,” Spooky mumbled against his partner’s chin.

“Windows,” Blurryface told him. “There’s not—people can see—” 

“The windows are high. Nobody can see unless they walked in.”

“But they can still—”

“Thought I told you to shut the fuck up,” Spooky interrupted his train of thought. Blurry was going to start feeling lightheaded soon. Blurry did as he was told, snaking his hands into Spooky’s hair, dirty roots matching the color of his hands. Spooky didn’t give him this adrenaline rush near as much as he wanted, but when they did fuck around, on the rare occassion that Blurry got to release all of his pent up sexual frustration, Spooky became a drug, filled with dopamine and the closest thing to serotonin that Blurry could take in.

The lighting was terrible, a dim, yellowy overhead light above them illuminating their view, but it was enough for Spooky to practically start drooling at the splotches of black that ran down Blurry’s chest, and soon enough, his teeth and tongue fixated on Blurry’s skin like the sun would stop rising the next day.

Blurry writhed from underneath, knees bent below Spooky’s arms as he tried to keep quiet, the most he let past his lips being slow gasps and short hisses when he could feel Spooky’s teeth. This was new, and Blurry couldn’t tell whether he enjoyed the feeling more or the fact that this was the absolute last activity they should be doing together. Spooky was territorial like a dog, which was ironic because Blurry was in some capacity, a dog. He figured Spooky had been thinking about this exact moment for a while, given that as soon as Blurry assumed that Spooky was done leaving marks on his paint-stained chest and that maybe he would go back to giving Blurry’s lips attention (or better yet, his dick), he just kept going. He wanted to get somewhere with this.

Blurry didn’t think much of it, which was his first mistake.

His second mistake came when Spooky flipped the two of them over, and Blurry was now in his lap, but when they broke another kiss, Blurry could see streaks of black in Spooky’s faded pink-white hair that should not be there. “Spooky,” he said suddenly, “wait.”

Spooky was gracious enough to pause what he was doing and look up, licking his lips. Blurry had to stop thinking about how badly he wanted things right now. “What now?” Spooky asked.

“The paint...isn’t dry,” Blurry said breathily, slightly heaving.

Spooky’s hands tightened around Blurry’s waist. “Where?”

“Your hair.”

“My roots are dark, it’s fine.”

Blurry looked over at the couch. _Oops_. “The couch.”

“They’ll say it was an accident,” Spooky mumbled, breathing just as hard as Blurryface was. 

“It’s on your nose.”

“Lick it off,” Spooky patted Blurry’s side.

Blurry scrunched his nose. “I’m not your dog.”

“That is highly debatable,” Spooky put his tongue in between his teeth. Blurry’s cheeks burned red. “Are we going to continue?”

“Should we,” Blurryface breathed. “Should we wait for the paint to dry?”

Spooky huffed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” Blurry raised his voice. “Spooky, that is _my_ paint and _I_ am the one who has to take the piss for it!” He was starting to sweat again.

“I can just make something up, don’t worry about it.”

Blurry shook his head. “It’s not that easy,” he scoffed. Blurry rubbed his palms on his face, thinking he’d already gone through the brute of everything. That is, until he looked down at his chest.

Fuck.

Blurry almost fell out of Spooky’s lap scrambling to get up, to stand in front of the mirror wall that was at the end of the trailer to see the atrocity that was his entire midsection. His hands balled up into fists by his sides, and he couldn’t believe his eyes. It wasn’t terrible, it was just in the absolute worst places possible.

“What did I do now?” Spooky asked with an eye roll. Blurry turned around instantly, nostrils flaring.

“You fucking _asshole!”_

“What the hell did I do?” Spooky sat up straighter.

“You..!” Blurry sighed. “Look at this, Spooky! How the ever living hell am I supposed to...how am I supposed to go on stage?!”

“WIth your shirt on…?”

“WIth my shirt on? What, my fucking see-through, loose ass tank top that everyone can see up and inside? Yeah, genius fucking idea!” Blurry yelled. “Why the hell would you leave a bruise on my _side_?”

Spooky’s eyes widened, and Blurry could see him finally start to process the situation, and he leaned his head back. “I would say I’m sorry but—”

“Yeah, you’re not sorry for fucking anything, come up with something else,” Blurry sneered. He looked back over in the mirror, eyes on the one mark that everyone would be able to see if he was wearing that stupid ass tank top. It was still hot outside. Blurry didn’t know what he was going to do, because not only did he have to worry about the crowd, but he also had to worry about the crew. And Tyler’s wife.

“What the hell is she going to say to him?” Blurry whispered.

“He can just...sleep with his shirt on,” Spooky said, relatively uninterested. Blurry wanted to smack him.

“Yeah, that would work if he didn’t sleep with his shirt off every night!” exclaimed Blurry, whipping his head back in Spooky’s direction. “You are the stupidest motherfucker ever, I swear to God.”

“We can let them handle it in the morning, don’t worry about it.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Spooky groaned. “Yes, Blurryface, I know exactly who I am talking to. And I’m telling you: switch your headspace. Disregard everything.”

Blurryface took a minute to close his eyes, trying to maintain some sort of sanity. The AC vents were louder than ever, and there was still screaming and music outside, and the trailer was still hot.

He wasn’t going to be able to take off his shirt.

“I’m not going to be able to take off my fucking shirt,” Blurry grumbled, walking over and taking a seat on the sofa in defeat. “I can’t fucking take it off. 90 degrees outside and I won’t be able to take off my shirt because of what you did, and I’m gonna die of a fucking heatstroke.”

“It’s a light shirt.”

“You are not contributing absolutely anything right now, asshole!” Blurry bit his tongue. The countless amount of alarms that were going off in his brain right now were overwhelming, and there was so much to worry about, so much that he was going to get in even more trouble for, this was absolutely breaching everything that Tyler had put in place, but it only left Blurry feeling even more in control, and there were things going on in his mind he couldn’t even fathom. He scratched at his face, hunched over, and when he looked up, Spooky was right there next to him, breathing towards his cheek. It startled Blurry a little and he inhaled suddenly. Spooky’s expression was rock solid.

“Okay, so? You have to wear the shirt. There’s already extra water backstage. I control the show. You need me to stop? I stop it. You take a breather. Okay? Everything else will be handled tomorrow, when you’re gone and you don’t have to worry about it at all.” He changed his tone. “You are going to go out there, you’re gonna put on a damn good show and remind everyone that _you_ are the center of this entire thing. Nobody in that crowd is going to think twice about why you kept that shirt on and nobody _will_ know except for me.” 

Blurry looked at him, chest rising and falling like ocean waves. “I hate you,” Blurry said before kissing him again. “I hate you so much.”

There was a knock at the door, and Blurry could feel his heart jump out of his chest.

“Different room,” Spooky said, and Blurry nodded, trying to collect himself before dashing to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Spooky threw a t-shirt over his head before opening the door, rushing air in and out of his lungs. The shirt was a little tight. Mark was in the doorway, a phone flashlight in hand. Spooky let him in. Mark climbed up the stairs. “Oh,” Mark said. “You have your makeup on already.”

“I got...bored.”

“I have to get a phone charger,” Mark said dully. “Also, everyone else is watching football right now, so…” he grabbed a charger from a nearby table. “Where’s Tyler?”

“He had to pee,” Spooky awkwardly smiled, picking up Blurry’s pants that he had changed out of off the ground, folding them and putting them on a chair.

“Right,” Mark said. “Why’re you wearing Tyler’s shirt?”

Spooky paused, looking down. Damn. “Uh, he wanted me to try it on and see if his shirts fit me…”

“Haven’t you worn his clothes before?”

“Yeah, it’s just that—”

“ _Spooky_?” Blurry asked from the bathroom.

Spooky stepped back towards the bathroom door, giving Mark an awkward smile. Mark was still a little confused with Blurry and Spooky, so they always had to publicly refer to themselves differently. “Yes, _Tyler_?” Spooky asked, trying not to grit his teeth.

“Oh,” Blurry said, his voice rough. “Is Mark there?”

“Yep,” Spooky replied. Mark furrowed his eyebrows.

“Sorry I’m...taking a piss,” Blurry tried to explain. His voice was deeper than it was when he was just around Spooky. That’s how it always was. A public display.

“Yeah, Josh told me,” Mark responded, raising his voice a little. He turned his attention back to Spooky. “Is he already in his…?” Mark’s voice trailed off.

“Blurryface?” Spooky supplied. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.” This was terrible. “Do you want me to film anything? It’s our biggest festival, and all that.”

Spooky raised his eyebrows. “No!” Mark looked confused. “We can film at the next biggest festival.”

Mark started to walk backwards, sighing. “Okay then. I will leave you two alone. Like always. I told Camila not to come here. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Spooky said. “See you.”

* * *

Backstage was full of crew and the last people on Earth that Blurry and Spooky wanted to be surrounded by. They sat in some chairs, ski masks in hand as people they forgot the names of passed them in all different directions. They were on soon. Spooky turned to Blurry.

“Warm ups?”

“No,” said Blurryface. “My voice is perfectly fine tonight.”

Their suits were hot. The weather wasn’t cooling any. “...I’m sorry about your shirt.”

Blurryface was not amused. “If I have a heatstroke, don’t call an ambulance. I’ve never spoken to doctors before. Don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Spooky said. “You look good in the shirt.”

Blurry snorted. “Yeah. Sweaty and disgusting.”

“Well that’s how you’d look if I—” Spooky stopped himself, looked up at all the people around them, and closed his mouth. Blurry looked a little alarmed. The screaming got louder outside.

“On in five!” someone yelled.

Spooky leaned into Blurry’s ear, and despite Blurry feeling like he was trapped in the pits of hell with how thick this suit was, he shivered. “Stay the whole show,” Spooky whispered. “Meet me after and I can help you out of your shirt.”

Blurry tried not to choke on his spit, heart beating a million times a minute with the combination of the screaming and talking and heat and Spooky looking at him with the most punchable white-toothed grin ever.

“This way, boys,” a staff member looked at them, and they stood up. “Josh, you’re with me, stage left. Tyler, stage right. Follow my friend here.” Blurry put the ski mask on the top of his head, waiting to see if Spooky had anything else to say.

Spooky mirrored his actions. “Sing nice for me,” he told him.

Blurry nodded, pulling the ski mask down. “Drum hard.”

“Only for you,” Spooky replied effortlessly, like he always did, pulling his own mask over his face before patting Blurry on the arm. They went their separate ways.

* * *

The show was good. Too good, honestly. The crowd was electric and Blurry was free, powerful and spastic with his performance, playing with his vocals whenever he wanted. The kids at the barricade looked like they had waited the whole day. Shame they wouldn’t get to see Tyler. 

Blurry was never as cheerful as Tyler, shows were his work, so it was serious, it had to go exactly as Blurry wanted it to. He allowed himself to smile once, before We Don’t Believe, after Spooky’s introduction and before making a snarky comment about wearing his kimono. The crowd ate it up. He screamed along with the crowd, looking over at Spooky whenever he could, seeing Spooky look back at him, mouth open, hot and sweaty, drumming shit he knew like the back of his hand. Blurry was experiencing some sort of awakening (not that he hadn’t already had one, once he got drool on his piano after the Ride drum platform for...reasons).

Message Man was one of Blurry’s favorite songs to play. Partly because it was his song, yes, but the fans didn’t ever think about it that way, and also Blurry loved his bass. Spooky loved Blurry’s bass too. Blurry got to get intense with Message Man, the rap verses taking his breath away which in turn made his voice raspier and darker, and the moments he would get before the verses he sometimes got to have fun with. It was especially fun tonight, where they got to play the song separate instead of together with Polarize.

He had the vague memory that Spooky could hear him through his earpiece, they could always hear each other. He gave Spooky a look before spinning back around with his bass. Spooky was so focused and lost in himself the whole time, and it was good, Blurry knowing he looked just equally as focused during other activities. Before starting the verse, he looked down, voice hot on the mic, going through his normal motions. “If you’re still with me, I need both hands up like this,” he demonstrated. “Gimme that face, go like this,” he drawled, knowing absolutely nobody knew what face he was talking about unless they were looking at Spooky the whole show. 

And just for fun, just because he knew Spooky could hear him, he said in his low voice, “ _You look so good._ ” And if he made a couple of questionably suggestive noises into the microphone before that, he was sure nobody would pick up on them. Except for Spooky.

Message Man ended eventually, but that wasn’t it.

The rest of the show went how Blurry predicted it would, and by the time the Holding on to You cue came around, and crew was in his ear reminding him to change, Blurry simply stood backstage, wiped off his forehead and got some more water in his system. He tugged his beanie over his eyebrows how he liked. A tech by the wings asked if he needed to stall, because he hadn’t changed shirts yet, and Blurry shook his head no, walking out towards the crowd so he could stand among them. He cursed Spooky silently in his head, because Spooky had long since removed his shirt, and it was still too warm, but he couldn’t do anything else except suck it up.

Blurry spent the rest of the show fucking his voice over, his screams in Polarize were hoarse and people were throwing water his way whenever they could. The rest of his time was devoted to staring Spooky down. Every trickle of sweat that went down Blurryface’s back came as a reminder of what they did, and how badly Blurry needed cooler weather next time he was going to let Spooky all over him like that.

To Blurry’s delight, Tyler was nowhere in his mind, and it didn’t look like Blurry was going anywhere anytime soon. He was hellbent on staying anyways, but it was weird, nearing the end of the show and not becoming weaker. Tear in My Heart was next, and for the first time in a very long time, Blurry sat down at his piano, void of any thought of Jenna.

Around this time, Tyler always regained control, because this was his song to his wife, and he needed to be the one to perform it. Besides, Blurry didn’t give two shits about singing any kind of love song, well, until now, when he had to perform it. He contemplated his options on how he could possibly make this work in the two seconds he had, playing a simple melody on the piano to buy some more time.

 _Bingo_.

Spooky had started his fill-ins by now, a sign for Blurry to hurry the fuck up, but Blurry was starting to shake a little bit, which was weird, even though the plan in his head was practically harmless. Spooky kept playing, and Blurry kept thinking, until finally he shifted forward, biting at his lip. “I would like to dedicate this next song,” he started off, slowly, carefully. “To someone at the festival…” 

More fill-ins, more piano. Someone in the crowd yelled, “ _Pick Josh!_ ”

“I’d like to pick someone that...I don’t know at all,” Blurry continued, in the hopes that Spooky’s heart just shattered. By the sound of his drums, it may actually have. “So,” Blurry mumbled, trying to remember who the fuck was on the lineup. “I’d like to dedicate this next song to 2 Chainz.” The laugh came, and Blurry tried to stifle it amongst the crowd’s own laughing, and Spooky kept playing, as did Blurry. Blurry finished up the grand announcement with, “If someone could please tell him that...this is for him.”

The moment came, where he looked at Spooky, and through his sunglasses, he could see Spooky’s astonished half-smile, and Blurry gave him an ever-so-adoring grin back, laughing. Spooky was pissed. The countdown started in Blurry’s ears, and he turned back to the mic to start off the song.

The crowd went crazy upon hearing the opening notes, and Blurry was pretty sure he was going to go crazy too. Even though the pronoun change in the chorus came far too easy for him, the stolen glances at Spooky were enough to remind Blurry why he was still active in the show. He was going to give Spooky hell until the very end. He knew, while singing the chorus, that everyone was going to lose their shit. Twitter and Instagram would be filled with bits about Tyler and Josh, conspiracies as to why exactly the pronouns in Tear in My Heart were changed, but Blurry knew at the bottom of his heart that nobody would truly know, and that satisfaction spread all around his body like an aura, charging him up even more. Spooky seemed to drum harder, and it only furthered Blurry’s enjoyment of the performance. He laid the “butcher” line down especially hard, announcing to the crowd his real feelings, absorbing in their energy just like he would when he passed Spooky’s kit, who kept giving him looks, smiles, a variety of faces that Blurry couldn’t keep up with. 

Before the encore, Blurry would be sure to remind Spooky that this song was for 2 Chainz, and nobody else.

Encore was usually where Blurry let Tyler return, but it was different tonight, still sweating in that stupid dress shirt as he exited his wing. Spooky had seemingly run over to meet him from his side, cornering Blurry as soon as they were in a dark enough spot.

Spooky got close, too close for there to be other people walking freely behind them. His breath was hot on Blurry’s sweat drenched face, stature seemingly taller than Blurry even if they were relatively the same height.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Spooky asked in a more threatening tone. Blurry stood his ground, huffing. His plan worked fine.

“Yes, however the hell did you reach that conclusion?”

“So you can go out there and willingly showcase your preferences to thousands of people, yet you’re afraid to let them see maybe one bruise on your side?”

Blurry pushed his lip out. “Aw, is Spooky upset I didn’t sing him a love song?”

“No, I’m not, because I know exactly who’s bed you’re going to be in tonight,” Spooky replied, and Blurry gulped. It was too hot back here.

“Oh really? Maybe I’ll just leave and let you deal with your issue yourself.”

Spooky put his hands on Blurry’s waist to prevent him from moving. “You’re not leaving the show.”

“Why not?” Blurry countered.

“Because I made you a promise before we went on stage. And it’s all you’ve been able to think about, and the shirt you’re still wearing is a reminder of what we were doing, and you’ve spent this whole show trying to get to me so we can be where we are now, where I corner you and tell you what you’re going to do because you like it, and I am the only person that your narcissistic bitchass will submit to.”

“Spooky—“

A crew member approached them and Spooky pulled away just as fast as he trapped Blurry in the first place, the both of them snapping their heads in that direction.

“You’re running down the aisle for...Car Radio, correct?” she asked Blurry.

Blurry shook his head no. Spooky looked at him. “Climbing the scaffolding instead.”

The staff raised her eyebrow. “Did we clear this earlier?”

“Yes, it was mentioned as a possibility. I will be climbing the scaffolding, like last time,” Blurry replied firmly, gruff. He hated these people.

* * *

He ended up going back onstage with nothing else but a dirty look that was mutually given by Spooky. After Car Radio was a solo from Spooky, and then Blurry would have to try and manage his way through a Trees speech, which wasn’t going to be hard if all he was doing was telling some stupid, pointless anecdote. He didn’t have to try and replicate Tyler’s sympathy and compassion. Just be amusing. For the fans.

Josh was right about what he said to Tyler earlier in the day, the scaffolding on the Electric Ballroom stage was a little taller than the last stage they were on, whatever that was called. It didn’t mean Blurry wasn’t any less eager to climb it, hoisting himself up like he was some sort of animal, crawling all the way to the top. This was his best idea all show, because not only was it an adrenaline rush and Blurry could so dearly fantasize about falling up here, but the wind was more brisk and prominent, the moisture in the air was cool and chilled him off. His shirt was damp from sweat, and he had to hold on to a nearby bar as he assessed the shocked crowd beneath him before almost making his lungs give out from screaming.

He liked being up here. He liked this show.

His Trees speech probably ended up being mediocre at best, trying to get a rise from the crowd after “relating” to them with the whole Eminem thing. He made an empty promise to return to Atlanta eventually like he always knew Tyler did, knowing they wouldn’t be back for a while. His voice broke slightly while he belted the notes for Trees, upon realizing that he had managed to take control of one of their largest shows to date on his own, and stay the whole duration. He would come out of this show stronger than he entered, with more grit and determination to stay longer next time as well.

He decided he didn't quite enjoy the drum platforms though, they were shaky, and he was sweating again after running around. There was water on the drums that splashed all around him and this crowd was drunk and annoying (a downside to music festivals). He looked up to see Spooky trying to hit a young girl after pulling at him, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be on the giving or receiving end of that.

Nonetheless, he bashed the drums and was quick to get off the crowd and back next to Spooky on stage, where they crossed arms and bowed, and Blurry told the fans their goodbyes.

The show was good. It was great.

Blurry was fucking sweating.

* * *

Backstage, Mark shooed Camila off as he walked in front of the boys. The staff said their congratulations and ‘good show’s as Spooky threw a towel over his shoulder, sitting down at a path of grass underneath a tent. Blurry joined him, silently, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt.

“It’s weird,” Blurryface told Spooky. “Still being here.”

Spooky looked up from his red cap, looking Blurry straight in the eyes. “Do you like it?”

“What do we do now?”

“Hopefully get to the hotel soon,” Spooky replied partially under his breath.

Mark looked at them, camera in hand, standing. “Showers are this way, if you want them.”

“Showering at the hotel,” Spooky said.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Blurry said.

Mark shifted. “But the paint.”

Blurry put his hand up, lowering his head. “It’s not gonna kill me,” he told Mark, and the man didn’t try and object.

“Great show, though. That was really funny, what you did with Tear in My Heart.”

Blurry gave Mark a grin. “Thank you, I thought it was a very good idea.” He looked over to Spooky, who had the fakest smile plastered on his face. “Spooky over here, he does not think so…”

Mark laughed. “It’s cause you didn't dedicate it to him.”

“Ah,” Blurry raised his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

“Is there any way we can leave? Now?” Spooky interjected, and Blurry gave him a look.

“Traffic will be a bitch back to the hotel, but I can try, since there’s no meet and greet.”

Mark ended up spending a good 20 minutes arguing with their manager to at the least let them gather their things in the trailer. He was successful. Blurry knew Mark would do anything for Tyler and Josh, so he assumed the invitation extended to him and Spooky as well, and within an hour Blurry and Spooky sat in the backseat of a car in the thick of post-festival traffic. Spooky kept his hand on Blurry’s thigh. A loose white tee that Spooky was wearing was the only thing not worn during the show, Blurry with his godforsaken shirt on. It felt like he was being suffocated by the thing, even though the top two buttons were undone.

He didn’t know what the rest of the night held for him, and he couldn’t imagine what would happen to both Tyler and Josh come morning, but he learned not to complain.

* * *

They were both sweaty, and filthy and disgusting by the time they reached a private back entrance to the hotel with a few others Blurry wasn’t paying any attention to. But it didn’t matter, because Spooky dragged Blurry to his hotel room without a damn care in the world.

Blurry understood that he was unlocking different parts of himself as he let Spooky push him around like this. The game they were playing was more than dangerous, and it was only a matter of time before everything would end up crashing and burning. Blurry didn’t know when exactly he would get to have another experience like this, inhabiting this body after hours with nobody else seeing him other than the man that was currently fulfilling some of the dirtier wishes that Blurryface had. It was a weird phenomenon to think about, but he wasn’t going to wish it away now.

It was a good show, and it was still too warm outside, and Blurry and Spooky both knew everything they were doing was wrong, and twisted, and would leave a trail of questions that were to be answered in the morning. But Blurry’s shirt was off at this point, and that’s all that he could find himself to care about.

And if anyone got to witness what looked like the drummer of Twenty One Pilots quite literally shoving the frontman through the door, it was on them to form an opinion or feel the need to spread the news. There were bigger events from the show to cover.


End file.
